


Forcible Reflections (should be avoided at all costs)

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, No Smut, surprised?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin doesn't want to think about Bilbo. Apparently, he has no choice in the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forcible Reflections (should be avoided at all costs)

The farmhouse was broken and burned out, but despite Gandalf's urging for them to move, Thorin was done for the day. He wanted a good night's sleep, and destroyed or not, the area provided a better campsite than they'd had in many a long night. 

Thorin soon had everyone working to put their camp together, the lads caring for the ponies, Bombur and Bofur working on their dinner, Dwalin and Bifur on watch, as usual, while the rest were divided between gathering firewood and organizing the ponies' gear as well as their own. Thorin was grateful for the relatively quiet moment to gather his ever scattered thoughts, thinking ahead to the next part of their journey. It was a dangerous path that lay ahead, the High Pass through the mountains had become treacherous once more, and Thorin was not looking forward to it. 

Another thing he was not looking forward to was Gandalf's nagging, insisting that they make a stop in Rivendell, of all places, to seek the help of the Elves. Thorin scoffed. Elves were not his least favourite creatures on Middle Earth, but they were not far off. If he never had to see or talk to another Elf for the rest of his life, he would be very happy. True, he hadn't had dealings with the Elves of Rivendell, but what difference would that make? Elves were Elves, and Thorin didn't trust them. 

They would just have to find another way to decipher the map. Once they were on the High Pass Gandalf would have to leave well enough alone, so Thorin was determined to get there as soon as possible. It shouldn't be longer than another week or so, at the rate Thorin was driving them across the countryside, and then the question of Elves would be put behind them. 

Until Mirkwood. 

Thorin scowled at his pipe, only then becoming aware that he had been puffing at it for several minutes though all the leaf was burned to ash. He tapped the ash out and tucked it into his pocket, but he wasn't ready to face the other Dwarves yet, not even to fetch his dinner. There was far too much weighing on his mind, he did not think they would enjoy his company at the moment, and nor could he blame them. 

One of them had other ideas, however. Thorin sensed a movement beside him and looked over to find Balin approaching, two bowls of hot, thick stew in his hands. He offered one to Thorin and then sat beside him, outside the ruined farmhouse where the others had gathered, eating his meal in silence. Thorin was grateful for Balin's reticence, and he turned his attention to his meal. 

When they had finished their dinner, Thorin looked up to see how the others were faring and immediately his eye was caught by their burglar's slight profile, watching as he took the bowls Bofur handed him before moving in the direction of Thorin's nephews, who were, he hoped, keeping an eye on their ponies. Watching Bilbo's retreating figure had brought to mind the encounters he had shared with Thorin over the last several weeks, which in turn had Thorin's cock filling slowly, the sense memory taking over his waking thoughts. 

Bilbo had proven that there was much fire in him. It had begun to show in more places than the bedroom, so to speak...it's not like they had been blessed with the use of a bedroom since they had departed Bag End over a month ago. Thorin was pleased. It seemed that the Hobbit had finally found his place amongst the unruly Dwarves. Despite still being far too inexperienced and all but useless in Thorin's eyes, he had settled into the routine of travel and camping. He appeared to have made fast friends with Bofur and Ori, and Thorin's own nephews looked on him as quite their own, keeping him close whenever possible, all the better to pepper him with questions. 

Thorin was finding it hard not to cuff them across the head when they got a little too comfortable with Bilbo...he was sure that the Hobbit wasn't always pleased by their avid attentions, and it unsettled him to see the two of them flanking Bilbo, arms around his shoulders or one of them with his head in Bilbo's lap. They were behaving in a far too familiar manner. Not that Thorin begrudged them their new friend, even he could admit, if only to himself, that Bilbo Baggins was good company. But they shouldn't assume too much. 

It frustrated him that Bilbo still waxed poetic about this home, his armchair and books, and his pantry filled to bursting with meals at the ready. It had been more than a month, and Thorin had expected that he would have let up about it by now, accepting their lot as the journey went on. The chilly, often damp sleeping conditions and carefully rationed meals were a far cry from the warmth of Bag End, this he knew. But no one had forced Bilbo out his door, and the whinging was getting on Thorin's nerves. 

The truth was, he was starting to feel a little too much in the company of Bilbo, and it alarmed him. Their couplings were as ardent as ever, fierce and fast and filled with a need that was new to Thorin. But they had also become increasingly tender, which was much more unsettling. He found himself grinning like an idiot when they were finished, or stroking his hand through Bilbo's mop of curls with care, soothing his bruises with soft kisses. He found himself as pleased to hold Bilbo in the aftermath, breathing in the smell of sex and wind and Hobbit, as he was to grasp him with the urgency of hot arousal in stolen moments. 

Bilbo Baggins had him utterly confused and off centre. He couldn't seem to reconcile the warring parts of his mind, one saying he should pull Bilbo closer and the other saying he should send him home. It was maddening. 

He hadn't realized he had been staring for long moments in the direction Bilbo had gone until Balin's voice cut into his reverie. 

“You seem to have taken quite a fancy to our burglar,” he said in a wry tone. Thorin glanced at him, unsurprised to see an appraising look on Balin's expressive face. 

“Hmmmph,” Thorin grunted in return, pulling out his pipe again, if only to have something to do with his hands. 

“He's rather fetching, isn't he?” Balin continued, taking out his own pipe. “And charming. And eager to please. A little too eager, perhaps.”

“What would you know about it?” Thorin asked harshly, annoyed at Balin and at himself.

“Only what I can see with my own eyes,” Balin said blandly, not rising to Thorin's challenge. “And my eyes tell me that you are preoccupied with him. And that you are struggling with an unexpected dilemma.”

“We are on a very dangerous quest, Balin, one with many dangers and pitfalls along the way, and a dragon at the end.”

“Indeed. Considering the complications of our situation, one would think that you would avoid complicating things further.” Balin finished packing his pipe and passed the pouch to Thorin, who had been gripping his pipe far too tightly, but hadn't moved to fill it. 

“And I'm sure you have an idea about how I might accomplish that.” Thorin filled the bowl slowly, unsure if he wanted it or not. 

“You could start by keeping your hands off our burglar,” Balin said, lighting his pipe with a puff of smoke. “A bruised heart will have a greater impact on our quest than a bruised head.”

“I have no intentions of hurting him,” Thorin snapped, tossing the pouch back to Balin and slipping his now filled pipe back into his pocket. Balin's pointed remarks had put him off, causing his stomach to churn. 

“It's not him I'm worried about, Thorin,” Balin said gently.

Thorin sat silently, stunned at Balin's observation. 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said at last, scoffing, but Balin would not be deterred. 

“It is not I who am being ridiculous. For all his apparent softness, Bilbo is rather a practical fellow. He'll hardly be looking to you with expectations of love.”

“Good, because I've given him none.” Thorin's head was spinning. The conclusions Balin had come to were astounding. He'd hardly been gracious or attentive to Bilbo, outside of their private moments...he'd hardly spared the Hobbit a glance, after all. Hadn't he?

“And yet, you are clearly enamoured with him,” Balin said pointedly, giving Thorin a stern look. “Quite frankly, your treatment of him outside your...trysts, has been most unfair.”

“This conversation has become a bit uncomfortable, Balin,” Thorin said, his cheeks burning with mortification at Balin's choice of words. 

“Sometimes the things that must be said are,” Balin replied. “I can only hope you treat him better when you are...alone.”

“Does he look at all cowed to you?” Thorin asked, glaring at Balin, resentful of the implication. 

“No. He does not,” Balin admitted. “I believe that very little would be enough to cow Master Baggins. He's rather fierce under that plush exterior.”

“I've noticed,” Thorin said with a grin. His moods were shifting faster than even he could keep up with.

“Your notice has been noticed, Thorin. None of us are ignorant as to the nature of your personal relationship with Bilbo...we could hardly have mistaken what occurred on the night before we left The Shire.”

“Enough!” Thorin snarled, pushing himself up and gathering their empty dishes. “You needn't worry yourself, Balin. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you indeed.”

“I'm not exactly new at this,” Thorin said brusquely, turned away from his friend, still staring in the direction Bilbo had gone. 

“I think you are,” Balin replied, moving to stand beside Thorin. 

“I'm not a dwarfling anymore, Balin.”

“No, you're not,” Balin agreed. “And yet, this is the first time you've been touched in the heart, is it not?”

“I...it's not like that.” Thorin clenched his jaw, wishing Balin would just go away already. He was having enough trouble convincing himself of that, he didn't need the added pressure of convincing his friend. 

“If you insist,” Balin agreed without agreeing, as was his manner. Thorin found his pointed observations and subtle prodding infuriating. 

“Believe what you will,” Thorin said at last. “It is a matter of convenience, that is all. I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, Balin.” He turned abruptly, heading back to the fire, where Bofur had piled their dirty dishes, depositing his on the stack when a cry came from behind him.

“Uncle!” Fili gasped as he dashed into the camp, skidding to a halt in front of Thorin. “Trolls, they, they have the ponies.”

“Trolls!” Thorin exclaimed. “Where?”

“Close,” Fili said, already tugging Thorin in the direction he'd come, the others gathering their weapons and following. “They stole some of the ponies, and when Bilbo went to free them, they caught him!”

“What?!” Thorin bellowed, grabbing and handful of his nephew's hair, pulling him to a stop. “You let him go in alone? So help me, Fili, if he's hurt.”

“I know, I know!” Fili cried, tugging at Thorin's sleeve again. “Come on, Kili is distracting them.”

 

* * *

Thorin's mind was chaos after their encounter with the trolls. They had come out of it unscathed, not counting a few scrapes and bruises, but it had been a close thing. As much as he'd wanted to blame Bilbo for getting them into such a situation, the fact was that Fili and Kili must be made to shoulder the bulk of the blame. Sending Bilbo in alone and not informing Thorin of what was transpiring had been a colossal misstep, and it had almost cost Bilbo, and the rest of them, their lives. 

Thorin shuddered, reminded suddenly of the look of sheer terror on Bilbo's face when the trolls had held him up, ready to tear his limbs from his body. Thorin's chest had frozen in that moment, a block of ice in place of the beating heart that had resided there only seconds earlier. There had been no other choice than to drop his sword and give in.

Considering Bilbo's fright while in the hands of the trolls, Thorin had been stunned when he had spoken up, drawing attention to himself by distracting the trolls long enough for Gandalf to take over, a move that no doubt saved their lives. Gandalf was right...Bilbo was in possession of a fair degree of nous, even under a good deal of pressure. Thorin was willing to admit that the Hobbit may have something to offer the company, if only a small thread of intelligence and common sense, combined with a surprising ability to think on his feet. 

Thorin pushed his thoughts aside when the call came, indicating that they'd found the troll hoard. He had enough to worry about, without getting preoccupied, again, with pondering Bilbo Baggins. 

For one, he still had to get the Company past Rivendell before Gandalf could work his wiles and find a way to force Thorin's hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Part four, whee! It seems these chapters are getting smaller, but never fear, I have some big plans for the next. As such, and considering I have to go out of town tomorrow morning, it'll probably be a few days before the next shows up. I'm hoping it will be a fair bit bigger, in fact, I may split it into two. ;)


End file.
